Coup d'État
by Bronsky Ellia
Summary: An incident separated seemingly 16-year old Tom from "modern" Voldemort. Tom starts a guerrilla war & revolt at the Death Eaters base.HP/TMR & LV/TMR


**A/N:** This story is more or less planned (in comparison to my other texts).

"Coup d'État" = Revolt, revolution, overturn (French).

The line for the Epigraph was taken from the song "Double Trouble" by the Frog Choir. It was performed at the Hogwarts Welcoming Feast on 1 September 1993, as seen in the "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban" film. Also it's a quote from Shakespeare's "Macbeth" and the title for a well-known Ray Bradbury novel.

I want to once again remind: English is not my native language, although I am fluent in it enough to attempt to write texts. Also I now have beta, but the editing is slow. So this fic is only qued for editing. As usual, I am overly confident of my usage of English XD.

* * *

 _Something wicked this way comes_

("Double Trouble" by John Williams; HP&PoA film)

 **I: Tangled**

He came to his senses with a start, taking a deep loud breath, and tried to sit up only to find out with dismay, that he had been tied to the huge four-poster by his hands and feet, spread on it like the four-winged eagle of sorts. He took in the room he was in. It seemed unfamiliar with all this old furniture made of dark and expensive-looking, though a bit worn-out wood, curtains on window and around the bed made from heavy and luxurious, though somewhat dusty velvet of deep-green color. A very Slytherin room, he thought. Though it did look abandoned and worn-out, not only in terms of materials, from which everything was made, but in respect to the air itself, too, as if the dust dancing in the stray sun ray peeking through half-closed window-curtains, somehow made it even more old and positively rusty with time, which has surely passed from the moment anyone at all had been here.

He vaguely remembered being in the Potions lab, working at some project of his own invention and, at the same time, he remembered sitting in class at Hogwarts and working on the Potion they were assigned to brew that day. Both halves of his strangely divided memory provided him with the loud boom of explosion. Shaking his head in the attempt to clear the fog out of his thoughts he tried to wrest free at least one hand, but it was in vain. The ropes, it seemed, were charmed, as his attempt just made them close even tighter around his wrist, almost cutting off the blood flow in his palm. Hissing at discomfort he tugged at the offending thing once more before dropping his hand back on the mattress beside his head.

He couldn't even begin to comprehend what happened and why, in Salazar's name, he was at this place instead of being treated at the school's Hospital Wing. The blurring memory of being in his own lab was dissolving into nothingness already, so he assumed that was either his wild imagination or had something to do with magic – probably, Memory Charm, or he was simply channelling some long-dead Potion Master's ghost. Not very likely, but still it was the possibility. One could never tell in the Wizarding World, and even Muggles claimed there were mediums speaking for ghosts out there.

Still, he could not understand what happened for him to end up who knows where in such humiliating and uncomfortable position. He didn't like being treated like a dangerous prisoner by someone he hadn't even seen yet.

He didn't have his wand on him, sure, but he still was able to perform some spells wandlessly. Knowing that what he intended to do was not harmless and pleasant, he closed his eyes and took several calming breaths, before lashing with his magic towards the ropes on his wrists. Small petals of fire blossomed at his palms, successfully eating away the knots of the ropes. Before the fire could spread further and burn him even more, he put out the flames shuddering at the stinging sensation in the mild burns on his hands. Then he tried untying the ropes on his feet manually, but reverted back to wandlessly igniting them, when the rope only contracted more under the touch of his fingers. Putting out these flames as well, he slid from the bed and rolled under it just in time before the door opened.

Someone walked in briskly only to cry out in alarm and to rush from the room, not even bothering to check if he was still inside.

Snorting at the stupidity of his guard, he quickly dashed out of the door before it could close.

He was lucky, it seemed, as the corridor outside was poorly lit and he ran unnoticed in the opposite direction of the man, who still was loudly shouting about the missing prisoner.

Three turns of the dark corridor later he heard someone coming towards him. Making a hasty dash for the nearest door he tried to open it, but the door was locked. This left him with the only option – to attack the approaching person in hopes that they will be slower than him and less vocal than the man who came to that room earlier.

Again, the fate was kind to him. He quite easily managed to jump the short ratty man, successfully gagged him with his hand and wrestled his wand out of his hands. Foreign or not, the wand submitted to his will, allowing to tie the ratty man up, to silence him and put him out.

After levitating the hardly breathing body to the even darker corner, he unlocked the door, which he found previously and barricaded himself inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

He found himself in some kind of the office with big dark desk, shelves along half of the walls, map of some country or the other pinned up at one of them, directly opposite the desk. There were also three chairs, one behind the desk and two – in front of it. But the most valuable in this room was the window. Or so he thought, until he looked out of it, only to find out that it faced small inner yard and the other part of the building he was in. Well, at least now he knew how this building looked like: gloomy, made of dark stone and half-hidden under thick layer of decaying ivy, or something alike. All in all, it looked like he was confined in some kind of castle, or big regal-looking mansion of sorts.

He considered Apparating, but sensed strong wards around the castle. He supposed he could try breaking through them, but only as the last resort. Who knew what power the owner of the place possessed to put such strong magic up. It was even possible that he wouldn't be able to get through it.

For now he decided to stay in this room, to hear what's going on outside the room and how their search for him went, to tend to his burns and to wait for the opportune moment to get away.

The stolen wand was a bit tricky, so he spent almost an hour before he managed to successfully heal his burns. Whisking some water and food for himself from the castle's kitchen proved to be even more difficult task, as he was not ready to risk opening the door, Accioing everything through the window instead. He managed to not empty the jar of water on its way only on his third try, and instead of getting something with meat to eat, he got only some half-eaten portion of vegetable stew, presumably stealing it right from under somebody's spoon.

After eating and tending to his wounds he'd set to listening attentively to what was going on outside his room.

People were running around, looking for him, no doubt. But also doing some errands of unknown origin, coming in and going out: he saw some of them through the window, but hadn't yet comprehended where the gates were, through which everyone left the premises.

Several hours of calm observation later he was still at the same office. It seemed, no one was able to even find that ratty man, whom he took the wand from.

"Idiots, utter idiots, the lot of them are," he muttered under his nose, snickering.

They couldn't find him and no one came to use the office he was hiding in. Looked, like he was safe for a while.

Transfiguring small bed out of two chairs he allowed himself to drift off to half-sleep. He will need the energy tomorrow, when he will try to break through the wards on the castle.

* * *

"It seems, I had underestimated myself," he heard sibilant hiss emit from his own mouth. "Wormtail! Did you find Wormtail?!" how anyone could shout and hiss at the same time, he could not understand, but that's what it was: angry shout hissed at the top of his lungs.

"No, my Lord, not yet unfortunately -"

"Unfortunately?! What is unfortunate is when your mother gave the birth to your worthless self! Crucio!" he watched as the man clad in black robe and white mask withered on the floor under his feet, satisfactory smirk spreading on his face. Finishing the spell he barked a harsh command: "Find the boy! Dismissed!" and turned his back on the man, who hurried to get on his feet and leave, before he got caught in another round of torture curse. "Nagini, my dear," he called out in Parseltongue. "Did you found anything?"

"No, Master," came the reply, the giant green snake coming into view. "I have smelled him briefly on the second floor, but then only the Rat Man's smell remained. He must have found the Other You, but then get himself killed or worse."

"Indeed, my darling, even at sixteen I was ruthless enough to kill without a second thought. Wormtail got unlucky," he gave out a sibilant laugh. "But I would still ask you to look for the boy – the Other Me, as you called him. He is too precious to loose to my incompetent followers' curses and is reckless enough to try some foolish stunt in order to escape here. Like make contact with the Golden Boy," he shuddered and make a sound of disgust. "Salazar forbid, if those two meet! It would be a true disaster!"

"Yes, Master. I will look for him then," the snake slithered away, hissing lowly.

"Lestrange! Enter!" he called.

Yet another masked man in black robe appeared.

"My Lord," the man bowed low, almost touching the hem of his robes. "Did you call me?"

"You will go to Severus. It is too dangerous to call him here, as Dumbledore, undoubtedly, watches his every move. I need the information on the Potter-boy. Severus as the teacher is privy to anything going on in that school. Inform him, that he should contact you immediately, if the boy shows any signs of being in contact with "me" again. Understood?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"You may go. Oh, and tell those fools to cease looking for Wormtail. He certainly is already dead, so is of no importance to me anymore. They should put all their efforts to locating the boy who escaped my chambers earlier."

"Of course, my Lord."

"Go."

The man left, again bowing, though this time not so low.

After a while there was a careful knock at the door.

"Who's there?! Enter!"

"My Lord, we found him!"

"Where is he?! Where's the boy?!"

"No, my Lord. We found Wormtail."

"Crucio!" he roared. "I said to look for the boy! Forget this stupid Rat!" he screamed almost hysterically. He hold the spell for good three minutes before lifting it and calming a bit. "Where did you found him?"

"On the second floor, my Lord. But there is no trace of the boy there. That floor is empty."

"Avery! The boy is skilled wizard, of course it can not be easy to find him, you fool! Does he acquired a wand, per chance?"

"I d-don't know for sure, my Lord," Avery answered hoarsely, not getting up from the floor after falling when he was hit with the Cruciatus. "Wormtail says that he lost his wand."

"What?!" he shrieked. "He can wield any wand, and knows enough Dark Magic to stand on your foot and you will know it only when you drop dead from his curse! Stupid Rat-! He is alive?" he asked in bewilderment. "You sure?"

"Y-yes."

"Hmm, it looks like another underestimation of mine. Get out! Find the boy!"

* * *

He woke up to see the familiar ceiling of the Hospital Wing above him. His felt a stinging sensation on his face, mostly his left cheek, but aside from that and a feeling of a dull headache slowly building up he was feeling okay. He remembered his cauldron exploding during the Potions class. No wonder he had once again ended up on a hospital bed. And while he could understand the stinging felling – burn, more than likely, the headache surprised him. He didn't remember hitting his head.

"Harry, how are you feeling?" he heard the familiar voice of Hermione, thick with worry.

"I'm okay. Mostly. What happened?"

"Bloody Slytherins dropped something in your potion, mate, that's what happened. It went 'boom' all over the class," Ron responded.

"Harry, don't you remember this?" Hermione raised here voice in alarm.

He winced.

"Yeah, I remember. Just keep it down a bit, 'Mione, please?"

"Does your head hurts, too?" she asked with sympathy. "Probably, from that awful sound."

"I don't think so -" he trailed off, suddenly not sure he wanted to share his strange dreams. There was nothing important there, after all, and he didn't think they were true visions. Probably just his imagination. It was too weird to be real. And he didn't feel like he'd usually felt after seeing into Voldemort's head, when the Dark Lord tortured somebody. It was just simple headache. He did stand very close to the cauldron when the thing exploded. "Never mind. What did Pomfrey said, can I go?"

"Yeah, mate. She left this," Ron produced a small can of cream.

"Madame Pomfrey said, you should put the cream on your burn in the evening and three times tomorrow, so that there won't be a scar later on," Hermione supplied, when Ron trailed off and frowned trying to remember the instructions of the Mediwitch. "There is small burn on your left hand as well, you should have shielded your face with it. Though it is strange a bit," he finished in thought.

"What is strange about it?" Harry brought his hand to his eyes, but he couldn't see anything clearly without his glasses. He looked around and, seeing the glasses on the nightstand near his bed, hastily put them on.

Before he began to examine the supposedly strange burn on his hand, Hermione explained:

"The cauldron was to the right from you, not to the left. How you managed to get your left hand injured, I don't know."

Harry shrugged.

"I think, I turned to the sound the potion was making before it exploded. I probably get burnt then," he suggested. "There is nothing strange with this, Hermione. If I may go, then let me get up – Hey, where is my clothes?"

"Oh, right." Hermione blushed, quickly averting her gaze from his bare chest, as the blanket was covering his body only up to his waist. "Accio Harry's clothes," she mumbled embarrased, hearing Ron's snickering.

"Don't mind her, Harry." Ron snorted some more, then explained: "Your clothes were drenched in that blasted potion, so 'Mione vanished them before you could be burnt more. Don't worry she didn't see anything. She conjured that blanket immediately." Ron grinned, making clear to Harry, that Hermione did see at least something before getting him covered.

Harry blushed at that and hurriedly grabbed his belongings, which sailed through the doors at this very moment.

"If you don't mind, Hermione, I need to -"

"Of course!" her blush getting even more furious, she jumped to her feet and fled from the Hospital Wing, "I'll wait outside."

Ron, still giggling helped Harry to untangle himself from the blanket, then went for the doors as well.

"Take your time, mate. We'll wait."

"Thanks, Ron."

Harry quickly got dressed and left the Hospital Wing before Madame Pomfrey could change her mind and decide to stop him.

* * *

During the days that followed the accident in Potions Harry had again seen the glimpses of the same two dreams or, rather, the continuation of those. He dreamt either of stealthily moving through the corridors of a dark mansion, stealing food and water and all in all wreaking havoc everywhere, making men in black robes and masks run around in fruitless pursuit of the invisible, almost ninja-like chaos-maker; or he was shouting in hysteria and throwing Crucio at the incompetent fools, conversed with the giant snake in Parseltongue and waited impatiently for any news on the mysterious "Other Him" and "the Golden Boy".

There was no mistake, who was the man throwing hissing tantrums and Crucio abound – of course it was Voldemort. And he rightly guessed who had been referred to as the Golden Boy – Harry himself. But he didn't comprehend who was the third character of his dreams – the person referred to as simply "the boy", or sometimes as "the Other Me" by Voldemort. He seemed like a real prankster with a sadistic streak. Judging by the glimpses of his thoughts Harry caught, that boy should have been a Slytherin. His wast knowledge of Dark Magic was another proof. It was weird, though, as none of all the Slytherins from Harry's year, as well as from years below and above him, were absent. Harry thought that the "Mini-Voldemort" was around his age, according to the workings of his mind and his actions.

After possibly the third dream Harry began to think that these were not just fruits of his imagination. He could not have possibly imagined so many Dark Curses and with such precise details, as he saw the Mini-Voldemort use on the White Masks (Death Eaters, of course). Also some musings of the boy were kind of old-fashioned, which was very foreign to Harry. Not to mention, he was far more knowledgeable than Harry, sometimes reminding him of Hermione. As for the parts of these dreams during which he looked through Voldemort's eyes, Harry doubted that his imagination was able to conjure such disturbing torture scenes or such vulgar language, as Voldemort from his dreams sometimes used. Some of these – both the inventive ways of torture and swearing – Harry had never heard earlier, before they appeared in his dreams.

Sometimes he saw the visions during the day (when dozing off during the History of Magic or taking a mid-day nap), sometimes the dreams came at night. Along with the dreams he felt the dull headache, slowly driving him up the wall. After about a week of these he was deadly tired, because every time he felt as if it was really him running and hiding or shouting at the men cowering before him. Moreover, at one moment he felt like not simply snapping at the rushing second year, who collided with him at the entrance of the Great Hall, but he was ready to throw the Cruciatus at him, too. And that scared him so much that he decided to go to the Headmaster the next morning before breakfast, if the coming night once again would bring to him the same dreams.

Surprisingly, that night his sleep was absolutely dreamless. Though, possibly, it had something to do with the fact, that earlier that day the person from his dream, whom whom he started to call the Mini-Voldie, was finally caught by the men in white masks and got hit with some nasty curse putting him out unconscious.

The next morning Harry managed to sleep-in missing the breakfast entirely and he hardly got enough time to run to his first class, but he was glad that his headache and these strange dreams stopped.

Forgoing his intention to speak to the Headmaster, Harry went to his classes that day with a lighter mood and with more energy, although one night was not enough to make him fully rested. Granted, it was Friday, so he was anticipating the upcoming weekend and the possibility of sleeping-in then.

Unfortunately, the following night turned out to be the worst of them all yet.

* * *

He hardly managed to get maybe two hours of half-sleep before hearing the familiar hissing very close to him. Only this time the sound was heard not inside his dreamy mind, but outside the door of the room he stayed at.

Like all the times during the past week, he changed his location, going to the opposite side of the mansion and two floors down, locked and charmed the door to the room he intended to rest in, so that no one would be able to notice the said door thinking that this corridor is empty with no rooms at all.

This trick was perfectly working the previous four times, the men in white masks were chasing the mist somewhere at the other part of the building while he'd managed to summon some food, stealing from under someone's nose again through the means of magic, and to get some rest at random times of day and night. He'd changed his wand three times already, throwing the previous ones outside through random windows after stealing or wrestling the next from some of the unsuspecting White Masks, when the opportunity presented itself.

He didn't find the way out yet, but creating chaos, breaking something seemingly valuable here and there, stealing things only to drop them at unexpected places, was rewarding in itself. Not to mention, it was driving the White Masks mad, made them run like headless chickens everywhere and suffer at the hands of their Master, who, too, was slowly going up the wall due to the servants' incompetence.

The first time he'd seen into that _Lord_ 's head, he almost got caught, it was so sudden and strangely consuming.

On that first night he intended to just doze off for an hour or so and run to some other room, but got sucked in that dream-like vision and managed to break free of it at the last minute, already hearing voices outside the concealed door.

They passed by, not noticing the entrance, but one of the men suddenly returned mumbling in surprise that 'there should be one of the offices somewhere here'. He was dragged off by his companion, who urged him to hurry up, before their 'Lord' would call them again. It seemed, like locating his persona was of utmost importance and vanishing offices could wait for all the White Masks cared.

Naturally, he additionally supplied enough distraction at the office beyond the wall of "his" room for them to run there, and slipped out of the room to hide somewhere else, before the men decided to return to the door that appeared in its rightful place.

Later he found that it was very useful to look through the eyes of the nameless "Lord", who was searching for him through out the mansion: he got the news on his own supposed whereabouts as well as the various forms of the orders to find him, and he acted accordingly. Also he got some glimpses into the inner thoughts of this "Lord": about himself, this Lord's identity, about his hatred towards some boy with a lot of names – the Golden Boy, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, and finally a Harry Potter. It seemed this boy of many names had been a thorn in the side of this "Lord" for a while already, and if not for his own distraction, the boy would surely be in the clutches of the Lord by this time.

As to the Lord's identity, even after several days of his chaotic play of hide-and-seek with Lord's minions he had only vague hints as to whom he might be. He had guesses, of course, but the issue was too serious, so he needed some full-proof evidence before he could be certain. If his guess was correct, it was too bizarre even for the Wizarding World.

Back to the present, he almost hadn't slept at all this time. After getting to this room he hid the door as usual and decided to lay for a bit, as he was very tired from all this running. He planned to steal some water and food later, after his nap.

Unfortunately, right after closing his eyes he got sucked in the vision. Although, this time he didn't saw the White Masks or the enormous Snake through the nameless Lord's eyes, but instead he appeared at entirely different place – Hogwarts.

He went to classes and sat at the Griffindor table during lunch at the Great Hall, went to the Griffindor Tower during the free period between his classes, surrounded by chatty Griffs, referring to him as Harry and had fallen asleep right in the middle of the conversation with two of his friends, while sitting in the Common Room.

Returning to his own mind the moment the Griffindor-him fell asleep, he sat up abruptly, but immediately got down again, closing his eyes tiredly again. He needed some rest, even if he could not afford to fully sleep right now. Sighing he dozed off for about two hours, when he was awaken by the loud hissing of the giant snake. After a moment he realized that the sound came from the corridor outside the room he was in, but it was too late.

The door was blasted off its hinges in an instant, the snake with the White Masks on her tail slithered into the room, and before he managed to react in any way the bluish curse was flying towards him.

Everything went black after this.

* * *

He woke abruptly, tried to sit up and with the sense of déjà-vu found out he was once again tied to the bed in an eagle-like pose. Only this time his hands and feet were in chains instead of ropes.

The room around him was the same as before: dusty and old wooden furniture, green velvet curtains, enormous four-poster bed. Again, like the first time, the room was dark, although now there wasn't even the ray of light coming through the half-closed curtains this time. It seemed, there was night outside.

He tried the chains. They clattered almost merrily, contracting tighter around his limbs almost painfully, rendering his hands and feet numb.

Of course, they took away the stolen wand, so he once again was left to do everything wandlessly.

Sighing, he let his magic out, trying to set the chain on his left hand on fire. The metal began melting instantly, but after a painful minute of this torture he was forced to switch from fire to ice – the chain while melting didn't seem to break, but on the contrary, it was growing back simultaneously while streaks of hot metal were going down his hand. How he managed not to let even the small sound escape him, he didn't know – the pain was excruciating. He did manage to bite through his lower lip in his attempt to stay silent, though.

After a while he heard the sounds of someone approaching the door to the room. He braced himself, ready to launch at anyone who dared to enter the room, chains or no chains. He was not going to patiently sit and wait for the unknown.

The door opened, revealing a tall dark figure clad in black robes with his hood up. The man at the door bore no white mask, so he assumed this should be the so-called "Lord". Of course, it could be just some of his minions, who put off the white mask for some reason. He fidgeted on the bed, making the chains rattle. He would not give up without a fight!

The man entered the room, closed it behind him and approached the bed, undressing on his way. When the hood went down, the sight underneath drawing the shocked gasp from him, the man – the Lord – smirked in satisfaction.

"How do you like this face, boy?" he all but purred.

Who could expect such a seductive sound coming out from lipless mouth on the similarly hideous pale snake-like face with no nose?

Instead of verbal response he spitted, trying to get the Lord in the face and adding the acid to his spit with wandless magic.

The man, now almost fully undressed, hissed in anger and pain when the burning drops came in contact with his skin.

"You!"

Again he didn't respond with words, this time choosing to put the remaining clothes of the man in front of him on fire.

The monster shrieked furiously, immediately putting the fire away, but not before his knee got burnt.

"Son of a -" he cut himself off abruptly. "Inventive brat, cease this nonsense immediately! You should know by now, who I am!" he hissed, coming closer to the bed.

"And who are you?" he snorted. "Monster from under the bed? Get lost!" he lashed out with his magic – no wandless spells, just pure power, hitting the snake-faced monster in the chest with enough force that he flew to the closed door hitting it with his back, the door opening from the impact.

The Lord growled and in a truly snake-like motion came on him, pinning him to the mattress with his disgusting naked body.

"You will submit to me, like everyone else before you," came furious hiss. Then the Lord switched to Parseltongue, for intimidation, or out of sheer paranoia maybe, "you are me, boy, you are the Lord Voldemort of sixteen years old, young and still naive, though in no way pure any more, as I remember. I will devour your body and your soul and I will be even stronger in power and even more invincible."

He shuddered at the realization. His guess was correct. This person – this monster – was really him. In several years – or decades even – he will become this snake-like parody of a person, throwing hissy fits of hysteria laced with rounds of Cruciatus at his followers for every tiny mistake they make.

He didn't want that. He was no stranger to Dark Magic, he knew that some rituals changed the caster in such a way, that after a while it could lead to insanity. The gruesome sight of his future self didn't bother him, he didn't care about his looks too much, and sometimes sacrifices should be made. But this grotesque villain was not who he aspired to be.

He flinched when by the flick of the Lord's wrist his clothes vanished into nothingness. Meeting the gaze of the crazy crimson eyes he gasped again, seeing them burning with intense lust.

"But before I take in your magic I need to punish you for everything you've done this past week, making my people running around the Manor in fruitless pursuit, breaking my valuable assets, striking fear in them – Only me! It's exclusively mine prerogative! Make them cower in fear, forget their names! You had no right!"

He snorted derisively.

"Listen to yourself! You sound like five-year-old!" Still snickering he tried to throw the Lord off himself. "You are heavy. Can you, maybe, proceed with punishment already? I have no wish to listen to your whining. And get dress, will you! I am not averse to ugliness, but your sight is beyond gruesome, especially _below_." He trailed his eyes south.

Again there was this hysterical shrieking.

"Y-you – You, little bastard! How dare you?!"

His head was going to explode from all this shouting, for sure!

"Too loud."

This time he got only angry wordless hiss in response to his provocation.

Although, what happened next could very well be his true punishment: without any preamble Lord got his ugly, but nonetheless gigantic member into his arse.

He gave out small cry of pain, immediately swallowed by another man's lipless mouth in the attempt at kissing him, the forked tongue breaking inside. He bit this tongue with all his might, not minding the copper taste filling him, blood trickling down his chin.

He writhed underneath the heavier body of another, tried to get him in the crotch with his half-bent knee, chains rattling loudly from his violent resistance.

Still his future-self continued to pound into him with forceful thrusts, hands clawing at his hips leaving blood marks and bruises, he continued his attempts at kissing, or more like biting him, not only on the lips, but everywhere he managed to reach – his neck, chest, nipples, stomach.

He fought like a wild cat, not minding the various pains, for a some time, before seemingly giving in.

But not for long. When the thrusts of the older man became more frantic indicating the approaching end, he suddenly lashed out with his magic, with every ounce of power he got in him. The man atop of him cried out in surprise and pain when his body caught fire. He pulled out immediately, flailing his hands while trying to put the fire out, before remembering about magic and grabbing his wand. He created a small waterfall in his attempts.

What scared Voldemort, though, was the quiet snickering from the boy on the bed. After everything that had just transpired, the bastard had the audacity to laugh at him!

"Crucio!" the harshly issued spell hit him in the chest, making him squirm in pain, but the laugh never stopped. After three minutes of this maddening laugh and only occasional gasp of pain between the offending sounds he was forced to lift the curse, else the boy would go completely mad from torture. The laugh continued. Enraged he again roared: "Crucio!" The laugh was heard for full five minutes before the boy finally gave under torture and fell unconscious. Only then the Dark Lord strode to the shower to wash away the remnants of the failed coition and the following fire. After quick shower he dressed in his usual black robe with hood and left the room, locking the door tightly behind him.

* * *

Harry tumbled out of bed sobbing uncontrollably and rushed to the bathroom. He hardly managed to get there before throwing up violently. The scene of Voldemort raping his younger self still playing out in his mind, he continued vomiting for some time, until his stomach was aching and empty of everything he'd eaten that day. The headache grew tenfold, the pain almost blinding him.

Still crying and shaking, Harry got back to his bed, but he was afraid to close his eyes. He stayed awake almost till morning, when his exhaustion got better of him and he fell asleep – this time without any dreams or visions.

* * *

 **A/N:** I'd apologize in advance, but the attempt to confuse who is who and who is where is deliberate. I hope the effect I was aiming for is successfully achieved. I had almost confused myself there at some point XD


End file.
